“Why, the man’s asleep!” he exclaimed, bending over him in astonishment.
Laurie had, in fact, fallen instantly into a deep stupor. Carlton soaked a handkerchief in ice-water and applied it to his neck, and the old man revived.
“Give us the address, or you’ll get another dose of the juice,” he commanded.
The missionary winked, and seemed to gather himself together. He stood up shakily, his muscles still quivering.
“It’s Ibo Island, south of the Lazarus Bank,” he said. “It’s latitude south twelve, forty, thirty-seven; longitude thirty-one, eleven, twenty.”
Sevier noted the figures on a scrap of paper. Elliott was amazed at the statement. Had Laurie really known all along? Or was it simply an imaginary address given to save himself from further torture?
“We’ll go there at once,” said Carlton, “and we’ll take you with us. If the stuff’s there, well and good, and we’ll do the handsome thing by you. If it’s not there, we’ve got proof of crooked work against you enough to send you down for ten years’ hard labour, and we’ll hand you over to the English police. Be sure of your figures, if you don’t want to die in prison and have your daughter disgraced.”
Laurie swayed back as if he had received a blow in the face. He stared for one instant at the dark, merciless countenance of the speaker, and suddenly caught up one of the empty beer-bottles from the table and hurled it. Carlton would have been brained if he had not ducked actively, and the missile smashed on the opposite wall.
Laurie instantly seized the other bottle, and charged with a bellow of animal fury, brandishing it as a club. The attack was so astoundingly unexpected that Sevier stood stone-still.
“Keep off!” cried Carlton, dodging round the table. He picked up a long carving-knife from among the supper cutlery, and presented the point like a bayonet. “Keep off!” he commanded again. “You fool! I’ll kill you!”